As your beloved, faithful dog <br />returns to his dear master's hearth <br />after burying deep some promising fine bone <br />as hostage to the future, <br />and with the long-lunged sigh <br />of those who know they could not have done better, <br />lays him on the hearth (with nose too near the falling coal) <br />to pass the sleep of a blissful clear conscience <br />broken only by the twitchy dream of chasing rabbits <br />(and like humans, does he never quite catch them before he wakes? <br />we'll never know...) <br /> <br />so the poet closes the notebook, switches off the PC, <br />and with the clear conscience of one <br />who knows that his poetry may not be all that good - <br />but that he couldn't have done better - <br />retires to bed, satisfied, content. <br /> <br />If bliss is then the emptied mind <br />the Muse of Poetry is kind.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0208-if-poets-had-a-tail-to-wag/
